


(fists into the lips of fashion) pictures or it didn't happen

by templeofshame



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Established Relationship, F/F, References to Depression, Selfies, craft youtube, fashion youtube, nostalgia and change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 13:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17961392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeofshame/pseuds/templeofshame
Summary: Fel knows why she takes photos of Dawn, but Dawn's relationship to photos baffles her.





	(fists into the lips of fashion) pictures or it didn't happen

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to sarah for betaing and everything else, and also to michelle for talking me out of bailing.

That damn buzzer. It is far too early for Fel to be anywhere but nestled against her sleepy girlfriend, and whoever answers it, that’ll have to change. She’s only _cosplaying_ a backpack, though it might be nice to be one, to just keep clinging while Dawn goes about her day. She can picture it, legs wrapped fully around Dawn’s body, and Dawn’d be a bit bulked out to carry her. Can the package guy come back later and let them both have a bit of a lie in? It’d be the perfect day for it, if not for that sound; they have nowhere they need to be all day, and Fel’s body is very opposed to the idea of moving. But she also has only hazy memories of Dawn’s weight and warmth coming to bed, maybe not too many hours ago. Fel groans. Dawn needs her sleep, but Fel needs Dawn’s warmth, needs the brush of a morning curl against her forehead. Packages are overrated.

“Not moving,” Dawn murmurs into her pillow.

“It’s not _my_ spon,” Fel argues half-heartedly. A little arguing is required, and it’s probably true. Dawn’s good at getting brands to send her things, or maybe it’s a fashion Youtube thing. But it’s definitely convenient, with the way Dawn’s taste has been getting fancier as her channel grows, and a few #spons don’t change the fact that London is fucking expensive.

“Someone could be sending you… washi tape,” Dawn mumbles. “‘Sides, by the time I’m dressed we’d have to go to post office anyway. You can just pull on a t-shirt and that emojied horror.” This morning Fel’s not wearing the horror in question, but the pajamas bottoms aren’t far from the bed.

“You can wear them.” Fel can feel Dawn shifting, can tell the Look before she sees it. “No one would see you!” Although, now that she’s thinking of it, Fel very much wants a photo of Dawn in them. Not for anyone else, just to preserve that (unfortunately hypothetical) moment, and maybe to tease Dawn. In the actual moment, Fel meets the Look with a cheeky grin. “And you like wearing my clothes...”

“The fashion police would be on me before I got to the door. Here to take my channel away. No fashion line for me.” Dawn flops back over, clutching at her pillow. “All because my girlfriend wanted a lie in.”

“I do,” Fel says as she reluctantly disentangles herself from Dawn, sheets, and duvet. “So you’d better enjoy it for me.”

*

As she suspected, the delivery guy doesn’t give a fuck about the Fel’s tangled mess of hair, her emoji pajamas or the fact that she’s not wearing a bra under her baggy Papyrus t-shirt. And the box _is_ for Dawn, from some company Fel’s never heard of, or probably Dawn mentioned it and she didn’t understand how you’d spell it.

Fel’s thinking of a video idea when she drops the box in the lounge and heads back to bed. Ootd paper dolls. Custom ones, maybe fabric and velcro, to test outfits? It could be a collab with Dawn to appease her restless fans, and Fel could be a little crafty and a little clumsy and make some Clearly Platonic jokes about the layer beneath the clothes. It’s not the most “AmazingFel” of ideas, but she could mix it up, put her outfits on some kind of strange creature, or draw herself and have it end up looking like she has a hand coming out of her chest or something. Strange enough to be nostalgic, and enough of Dawn for the people who like them best together. The real crafters could—

Dawn is supposed to be asleep. That’s the whole point. But instead, she’s interrupting Fel’s brainstorm with the sight of her propped up on her side of the bed, scrolling on her phone, dressed in her favorite oversized hoodie and a glimpse of lace beneath. As much as Fel might tease Dawn about the temperature confusion of the hoodie-and-pants combo, right now, she loves it a lot. It’s something Dawn wears completely for herself. It’s Dawn at her most stubborn, adorable, confident, and domestic, really, all physical and emotional comfort with that teasing hint that Fel’s always going to appreciate. And just Fel. 

“This isn’t dressed,” Dawn states, eyes flicking up from her phone to Fel, then back. Fel just stands there for a minute, deciding whether to be mad, or exasperated, or something, that she chose to prioritize Dawn’s sleep, and Dawn chose the internet. Not that it was a huge sacrifice, but… someone should’ve been sleeping, and it wasn’t _her_ damn package.

Dawn looks up again, at Fel in the same spot, and seems to misread the source of her exasperation. “Do I _have_ to get dressed?” Dawn whines. Maybe Fel shouldn’t be endeared by whining, maybe they’re too old for that, but it just makes her smile. Can’t help that. 

“I definitely didn’t sign off on that rule,” Fel says, making a show of tracing Dawn’s legs with her gaze, from the hem of her hoodie all the way down. Fel can do that now, without worries about objectification, and she does it more for that hard-won mental victory. And for the way it makes Dawn’s rosy patch emerge. “I still think clothes are overrated,” she says.

“You want me to be out of a job?”

Fel sighs. “I reckon there’s a time and a place for clothes.”

“I’m not filming today, though,” Dawn says. It’s a declaration. It tells Fel not to push back, not to ask when the one that “feels like June” is coming. Fel’s glad for a reason to put off that conversation, as inevitable as it may be. After a moment, Dawn groans. “But I’m meant to have an outfit post today. The right ootd might buy me a week.”

“Ootiw,” Fel says, or tries to. It sounds a bit like Mewtwo, but she doesn’t have the right joke to make. It’s too early to be funny in any way beyond sounding vaguely like an owl. And the earliness seems to be entirely Dawn’s fault, from multiple angles. Doesn’t seem fair, Fel thinks as she flops down and starts to burrow back under the duvet.

“Oi,” Dawn laughs, her balance shaken. Fel never got that magician thing with the tablecloth to work, but if she could, she’d do it now, pull the duvet clean off and leave Dawn sitting there, firmly on the bed and suitably impressed. Charlotte would’ve been impressed back in Year 6, too, if she could’ve done that, but knowing Fel, there would’ve been broken dishes and blood. And who needs Charlotte or magician skills when Fel’s got Dawn’s laugh, when it’s her weight keeping the duvet on the bed. Maybe she should be awake. Dawn’s awake. Fel pokes her head back out to look at her.

“D’you _have_ to get dressed? For the ootiw?” Fel lets a little of that whine in, lets her voice show that she has a right answer in mind. One that shouldn’t be a hard sell for Dawn, especially not after their buzzer awakening.

“Not yet. Not really. Just have to wear it long enough for a selfie. ” Dawn understands Fel’s tone and matches it with grabby hands. Fel doesn’t mind slipping out from under the duvet when it’s into Dawn’s arms and warmth. The hoodie-and-pants combo is one of Fel’s favorites for a morning cuddle: the soft, well-worn fabric against Fel’s face as she rests her head on Dawn’s chest, the silky skin of obsessively shaved legs meeting Fel’s less smooth ones where her pajama bottoms are bunched up... Fel could fall back asleep like this, if she couldn’t feel that Dawn’s still thinking and scrolling. 

She angles her head unsubtly against Dawn’s body so that she can see the screen. Dawn doesn’t try to keep Fel from seeing that the images that move with every thumb flick are of Dawn herself. Her own Instagram.

“Any surprises?” Fel teases. It’s not like she doesn’t revisit her own photos too, but that’s the ones she takes for herself, and Fel doesn’t see nostalgia or fondness in Dawn as she scrolls past image after image of her younger self, hair straightened within an inch of its life. Dawn’s body’s gotten more tense, and there are the seeds of a frown on her face. That, or a cringe. Either way, the teasing doesn’t land.

“They’ll notice if I delete them,” Dawn says. “They’ll wonder why.”

Fel doesn’t say anything right away. Dawn’s not wrong; they have the kind of fans who notice, for better and worse. Dawn pauses for a moment on a mirror selfie that—Fel would never say it—resembles some recent ones, but with her old phone and less expensive clothes and, of course, the pin-straight fringe. As she swipes, though, Fel’s reminded that they weren’t all so deliberate back then. She feels a completely unhelpful pang of nostalgia, for a more reckless young Dawn, for a time when they didn’t think so much about what other people thought… but Fel has to remind herself that Dawn had been deeply unhappy, fighting her way through her darkness without the help or awareness she has now. Nostalgia simplifies things, irons out those wrinkles. But where Fel sees someone she loved, Dawn sees someone she hated.

“It won’t hurt them to wonder,” Fel says, softly, tentatively. “If it’s what you want.”

Dawn sighs. What she wants always feels like a loaded question with Dawn, but it’s still one Fel needs to ask one way or another. “Maybe everything should be Instagram Stories and Snapchats. Just a blip, and then gone,” Dawn says. She’s not looking at her phone anymore, she’s looking at Fel with the kind of vulnerability that squeezes Fel’s heart. “I guess it is, on the scale of the universe. Or just the Earth. But not on the scale of me.”

This is one time Fel doesn’t want to think about space or dinosaurs. She doesn’t want to forget any of the past Dawns, Dawns she’s loved and not lost exactly, but they’re gone. Fel hates the idea that someday, no one will be around to remember that they existed, that Dawn and Fel created a life for themselves and, somehow, a kind of world that other people chose to live in. She wants to cradle their past in her hands, to keep it safe, but the Dawn of the present comes first.

“Not sure I’m awake enough for this,” Fel says, and it’s probably true. It’s hard enough to think of the right words without the early-morning brain haze. “Breakfast?”

Fel doesn’t want to pull away first, but when Dawn does, there’s no coldness to it. Maybe Fel’s further down the rabbit hole than Dawn’s gotten, maybe Instagram is just Instagram. And Dawn’s just Dawn, giving Fel puppy-dog eyes and asking, “Make me food?”

“Do you want eggs?” Fel says without thinking. She doesn’t make them much anymore, but her head’s still in a nostalgic place. She doesn’t want them for every meal, but sometimes it’s nice to go back. “Or cereal?”

If Dawn notices, she doesn’t call Fel on it. “You pick. And I’ll pick the show.”

*

Dawn is sitting in her sofa crease, remote in hand and a plate of eggs perched on her lap. “Do I have the emotional energy for Orphan Black?” she calls.

“Not anime?” Fel asks, lingering out of Dawn’s line of sight for a moment. From this angle, she looks so comfy and ridiculous and beautiful, all loose fuzzy fabric draped along the bad-posture curve of her body, then long smooth legs and just a glimpse of her pants between the two.

“I want to feel like I can transform.”

Fel’s busy fumbling with her phone, setting her own plate on the corner of the couch for a sec. “You know they’re clones, right? Or do you wanna get back into acting?”

“I could be my own clone. I could be different.”

Maybe Fel should feel guilty, listening to Dawn want to change while actively working to preserve this exact moment in time, this exact Dawn. But Fel’s getting the angle right, and before Dawn can move, Fel taps. There’s a photographic click and Dawn spins around, affronted and fond at the same time. “ _Fel_!” she squeals, drawing out the syllable beyond its rightful length.

“There’s your oootid,” Fel announces. She settles herself next to Dawn before showing her on her phone. Dawn cringes hard enough at the way Fel insists on trying to pronounce “ootd” that Fel can’t really tell what Dawn thinks of the photo. It’s painfully adorable, both domestic and flattering, but if Fel’s learned anything, it’s that Dawn can always find something to object to when it comes to herself. And to her, it’s about herself, so Fel’s had to learn not to be offended. Except that time she told her audience that Fel can’t take good photos of her. Do they really believe all the good ones come from Dawn, by herself, with a timer or else filming and then picking a still?

“It’s okay,” Dawn says, after a long moment. “It’s very me.”

“Don’t let the leg perverts say I never do anything for them.”

“You’re not posting it!” Dawn screeches, trying to reach for the phone. She flails on her back, her arms barely reaching Fel’s elbow and flapping uselessly like a t-rex.

“I’m logged in as me. The leg perverts don’t follow me.”

“They’re all the same followers, Fel!”

“I’ve just got the crafty ones.” Fel settles beside Dawn, picks up her bowl. “I’m not gonna post it, obviously. Blah blah brands, blah blah shippers, I’m just an old fashioned girl who likes to keep your thighs to myself.”

“Don’t blah blah brands, Fel, I want a fashion line! Unconventional zips! Chunky knits with techwear detailing! Dark florals!”

Fel rolls her eyes. “You’ll get your fashion line. And I’ll, y’know, _pay the rent_ with the help of some blah blah brands.”

*

Dawn somehow ends up with enough of a vision that Fel can't begrudge her the trek across town to some very aesthetic backgrounds, and for all Fel's Dawn-photographing skills, the perfect shot doesn't come easy. This kind of “perfect” isn’t Fel’s favorite, but these have to be how Dawn wants them: calculated and performed, with a dash of irony. Just enough that when she gets inevitable hate, she can say they just don't get it. She’ll probably joke later about looking like a mess, and Fel has to hope it’s her version of Beyonce’s “woke up like this,” not something she believes. Dawn is beautiful at her worst, whether she's creating extra chins and goofy angles or doing what they call ugly-crying, which... It happens. But Fel always prefers the organic version, the way Dawn looks when she's not thinking about her audience.

Dawn would probably keep going if it weren't for the dimming sky. “Fuck, the lighting's gone,” she says, and Fel tries not to be relieved. Fel doesn't say that it's gorgeous, the glimpses of sunset between buildings and above, but she does sneak her own shot of Dawn when she turns to admire it. 

“Why do you _do_ that?” Dawn whines, turning. She always turns and whines.

It’s not the moment for Fel to say something sappy about wanting to preserve the memory, to make this moment as real as possible, like she might somehow need to prove to herself that it happened. “Same as you. Enjoying the view.” 

Dawn grins a grin that oozes fondness, and Fel snaps another, a guaranteed fan favorite if Dawn lets her post it and a Fel favorite either way. It's the kind of photo she wants to post to say _this is my girl, this is the love we live day after day_. And it's the kind of photo that will hurt Fel's heart when they are, inevitably, still someone's platonic bff goals. Sure, that ridiculous heteronormativity shields them, and Fel knows they could tear it down if they chose, but it still stings.

It's getting chilly as they head back to the tube. Fel wraps her denim jacket tighter around herself and speeds her pace as she checks the train schedule on her phone. Getting recognized on a train platform at night is never the ideal fan encounter, and the odds are low, but it’s happened. Maybe when Dawn hits a million subs they can start taking Uber more often. For now, she's trailing behind a few steps, but Fel doesn't have to worry that she's there.

“Hey, Fel!” Dawn calls as they pass a car park, bathed in the red light of an inexplicable lamppost outside Poundland. She could just say what she wants, they're not so far apart, but Fel's well trained; she turns. And it's her turn to see the flash.

“What?” she asks, though with a different meaning than she thought she'd have when she turned. “Am I making a dumb face? I'm cold!” Dumb faces used to be Fel's thing, kind of, when it came to selfies. Her own kind of irony, a way to remind people that she never claimed to be much to look at. Well, maybe she was a bit flirty in the beginning, before she and Youtube had really decided what their things were going to be. When she was just a lonely queer girl with a camera, ideas, and low levels of coordination, and when Dawn was just a viewer with a boyfriend. Now Dawn posts lots of cute selfies, with and without irony, and Fel’s still getting comfortable putting anything out there where she just feels good, and like herself, without the AmazingFel shield.

“Nah, mate.” It's a quiet enough night to hear Dawn whisper, which maybe defeats the purpose but there's no one nearby. “You look hot. I wanna do a photo shoot.”

“Of me?” She’s just wearing a white t-shirt and a denim jacket, and she’s liking the new haircut, but she doesn’t feel glamourous. She’s not the photoshoot type, not beyond one horribly awkward time a craft magazine thought she’d make them “hip,” and even then she’d had professional hair and makeup.

Dawn takes the defensive. “I take photos of you! You just don’t make me a human tripod, which, sorry, it’s an occupational hazard. But I wanna be a human tripod now.”

“But in a Poundland car park? In the dark?” 

“Dramatic lighting,” Dawn insists. “C'mon, rat. Pose.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://templeofshame.tumblr.com/post/183141026720/fists-into-the-lips-of-fashion-pictures-or-it)


End file.
